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"I
took a piece of plastic clay,
and
idly fashioned it one day,
and
as my fingers pressed it still,
It
moved and yielded to my will.
I
came again when days were past
The
bit of clay was hard at last;
The
form I gave it still it bore,
but
I could change that form no more.
I
took a piece of living clay
And
gently formed it day by day;
and
molded with my power and art
A
young child’s soft and yielding heart.
I
came again when days were gone;
it
was a man I looked upon;
He
still that early impress bore
And
I could change it nevermore."
Anonymous
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